Like Any Good Mother
by SuperSue
Summary: One shot. The stories Ursa told him as a child stayed with Zuko as a young adult.


Like any good mother in the Fire Nation, Ursa wife of Prince Ozai related tales and legends every night to her children before they went to sleep. Tales of daring, brave and courageous Firebenders who placed duty to their Fire Lord above their hearts, families and even sometimes lives were a staple of the education every youth born under the flame emblazoned flag was expected to have. But Ursa was more than a dutiful mother of the Fire Nation to the son upon whom she doted; her heart fiercely loved her only son and knew that greatness lay in his future. So after Azula was safely tucked into her bed Ursa would then tuck in Zuko, and to prepare him for his mighty deeds she told him of legends beyond the borders of their country. Zuko was lulled to sleep every night with stories of Earthbenders and Waterbenders and Airbenders long gone, of monsters in dark hidden caves and distraught lovers who had been forbidden to meet. With wide golden eyes and childlike wonder he absorbed each tale and kept it locked securely within his mind. Years later, when his mother was gone and would never again regale him with tales of daring quests into haunted forests Zuko would play through them in his mind, tearfully frustrated with those he couldn't remember fully. Some were lost within the recesses of his memory completely, only to flicker to his consciousness briefly when something of the outside world stirred it from its hiding place. A breeze across the ocean would remind him of a genie and the Earth kingdom girl he loved, only to be forgotten again just as quickly. Some he knew well, favorites like the Wandering Hoot-Owl and the Men-Hungry Witches. Those were the tales he asked his mother to repeat, and again until the words themselves became fixed in his memory. The memories he kept of those were the small light in the gloom of having lost a mother. They were less of a consolation when he lost his honor, but occasionally he would lean against the railing on the fore of the ship and watch the sunset and remember the words his mother had spoken half a lifetime past.

So he knew quite well when he met the Avatar's companions that the so-called "water witch" was no such thing. Witches were among the things for which his mother had prepared him. The Avatar's Waterbender was short, virtually curveless, her dark hair braided back from her face. Witches were at once fearsome and glorious to behold, with entrancing kohl-rimmed eyes that held the power to bring men to their knees. Their hair was wild and untamed, tumbling over their shoulders and down their backs yet soft to the touch. They had figures like an hourglass, curves that beckoned and begged to be touched. With their fingers they wove dangerous magicks to entice young men to their doom. A kiss from those full lips was deadly, and Witches loved nothing more than to kiss men caught in their raptures. Zuko traveled for three years over the vast majority of the world, saw monsters fearsome to behold in caves that were dark and deep, saw creatures as foul as they were cruel and animals which not even Ursa could have prepared him to face. But in years of travel he never saw a single Witch, and he wondered if perhaps they, like so many subjects of legends and fables, had died out.

In the Western Air Temple the others would sometimes sit up at night around the fire and tell each other tales they had heard as children. Zuko rarely spoke, telling one of the shorter stories he knew when they would press upon him for one. Mostly he liked to sit and listen as the others retold the stories they knew with wide eyes and deep voices. Some he knew, others were completely foreign to him. Aang's stories were soft, stories from a century ago that ended happily. Haru and Toph told stories of the Earth kingdom, and sometimes Haru would tell a story only to have it immediately retold by Toph wherein the strong heroic Earthbender was actually a strong and Earthbender heroine. He must have misheard it, she would tell him and in response he touched his moustache and wisely said nothing. The Duke and Teo the Inventor's son told stories of bravery and cleverness, heroes without the help of bending powers. Sokka would settle back and smile contentedly when Katara told their legends, tales of brave men warriors in their war paint. Tales of fearless women, to which Sokka first complained but was quickly shushed by Toph who wore a large grin. Katara was the most skilled of them when it came to storytelling, and even Zuko found himself sometimes leaning the tiniest bit forward, a mirror of everyone else around the circle. But it was the way she watched him when he told his stories that left him unsettled. Her large eyes were unwaveringly set on him when he spoke. It was as if the words passing his lips were meant only for her, that his stories held the greatest possible importance. He had finished his tale of the One Eyed Dragon when he glanced up and saw that Katara's eyes were not on Haru, who was now telling the story of the Cave Maiden, but instead her gaze was still fixed on him. Zuko met her eyes questioningly. She held his eyes for a moment before standing up and walking into the Temple. This was not very uncommon; those who wanted stayed as long as they liked, but were not held there by any sense of duty. A minute or two later Zuko followed, his curiosity rather piqued.

The hallways were rather dark, he lit up a flame and held it in his palm before him as he walked. Katara stood in the third passageway. Her large eyes shone brightly even in the dim light. They were rather strange, he noted. They seemed to dance slightly, like the morning tide. He lifted his hand slightly and took a step closer to examine them further. Katara looked at him quizzically, "What is it?"

Zuko blinked, and then spoke quickly. "Why do you watch me so intently when I tell stories?"

She pursed her lips, his eyes glanced of their own accord and in his mind he heard his mother's soft voice warning him about lips so full and red as a desert dawn. He pushed it out of his mind to hear her speak. "I've never heard tales told to Fire Nation children. Did your mother tell them to you?"

He couldn't stop the small amused smile that rose to his lips. "Yes. Our stories and cultures may be quite different, but some things are the same the world over."

She blushed the color of Fire Lily buds and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Loose like she had taken to wearing her hair as of late, her dark waves tumbled down her back. He balled his hand to keep from reaching out and touching it, his mother's voice a warning against it. They were plunged into darkness. It took him half an instant to realize that was due to him extinguishing the fireball that had been in his hand accidentally. "Zuko?" She reached a hand out and touched his chest lightly, and drew it back nearly as quickly. By the moon's light he could see her examining her fingers. "You're very warm. Are you feeling alright?"

He hardly knew. The moon was waning, and in its light he noticed her eyes held almost a power over him. Her hair was unruly and free, her skin almost glowing. Even her Water-Tribe clothing couldn't hide the fact that her body was formed well, and his feverish fingers itched to make trails over her dark skin. And her mouth- he took a step towards her.

"Zuko?" He came closer, looking intensely at her dark-lined eyes. She exhaled shakily and he felt the cool ocean breeze kiss his skin. He stepped closer still, until she was close enough that he felt her tremble. "Zuko, I…" But she couldn't continue. He was just so close.

He heard little over his unsteady breathing and the beating of his heart in his ears, but a voice in his head was telling him something. His mother was saying something about lips and death and-

He half dragged her, half pulled her by her hair back to the campfire, his heart still pounding. He repeated one word over and over to himself, trying to ignore the struggles of Katara as she fought him and commanded him to let her go. When they were in sight of the others he made his conclusion clear, "She's a witch!"

Everyone looked up at him with shocked and horrified expressions. As they hurried over, Katara bended over water from a bucket on the far side of camp and knocked him loose of her. She got to her feet just as Sokka was rushing up to give her a hand, and she looked incredulously at Zuko. "What in La's name is wrong with you?" She breathe roughly and settled in to a bending stance, reading to protect herself from any further attacks. "Have you gone completely mad?"

Zuko was finding it easier to think rationally, and felt the color slowly rising to his cheeks. "I…" He struggled to explain his very strange behavior. "Well, I…" He looked around at the faces watching him. Confuision, anger, and in Toph's case amusement. One of his hands found its way to the back of his head, ruffling his hair as he tended to do when under stress. Katara was staring at him like he had grown a second head. Maybe he had made a mistake. "Katara, I…" he swallowed, his throat dry and thought as quickly as he was able, "I was…" she was waiting for an answer, they were all waiting for an answer. "I was…testing your bending skills for when you wouldn't have time time to prepare for an attack. Good job, you uh…handled it pretty well." Now everyone was watching him like he had truly gone absolutely crazy. "I'm, uh, going to bed now. I'm really tired. Good night." He turned on his heel and hurried away as quickly as he was able.

Stupid, stupid Zuko! He chastised himself in his mind. Silly stories got him nothing but trouble. "Thanks Mother." He muttered under his breath as he let himself into his bed chamber. He folded himself into a sitting position on the floor, deciding that a few hours of meditation might be necessary before he would be able to sleep. He took a slow, steadying breath, and another. There was a sharp knock at his door. He stood to answer it, rather nervous at who it might be. As he turned to face the door, he found that a quietly glimmering blade was sitting snugly against his neck. His eyes followed the sword up the blade, past the hilt, up the tan arm, shoulder and neck to the angry face of a young Water-Tribe warrior. "Sokka," he said uncomfortably. Every time he spoke the blade pressed more sharply against his throat. "What can I do for you?"

Sokka ignored his question, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "My mother told me stories when I was a boy, years before the Fire Nation killed her." Zuko felt a dropping sensation in his stomach; Sokka closed the door behind himself without looking away from Zuko. "There was one in particular she liked to tell, about Witch Women and their men." Zuko swallowed painfully. "It was one of those stories that a mother tells her son and needs never to tell to her daughter, so while Katara is trying to understand why you would sneak attack her, I understand." He took a small step closer and pressed the blade more fully against Zuko's throat, his azure eyes darkening. "Now, Firebender" he spoke the word disdainfully, "there are some things I think you should understand. As much as it concerns you, Katara is a witch. If you ever, ever kiss her I can promise you that you will die." Sokka glared at him hatefully for a few seconds before pulling back his blade, turning on his heel and striding out of the room. The door closed creakily behind him.

With a long breath, Zuko sank down onto his bed. "Thanks Mother." He dropped his head into his hands.


End file.
